The reality

At some point everyday I have to pinch myself. Not because I can't believe how amazing my life is but because I can't believe I'm married and pregnant.

This time last year I was living with my boyfriend, I had a wardrobe full of fabulous clothes and shoes and I could go out and get drunk whenever I liked. Now I'm sitting on my bed after hauling myself out of the bath (which took a while), wondering what happened (you don't need to spell it out for me, I know exactly what happened).

I don't like children. They whinge and whine and get dirt on their faces. I like to hiss at them when I'm standing in queues. If I could, I'd flick their ears when they weren't looking (I don't do this before you call social services). I'm a bit like one of those witches out of The Witches (Roald Dahl), actually I'm a lot like those witches.

Babies are just as bad. They cry and pull weird faces and smell like poo all the time. When my brother and sisters were babies I'd blow on their faces so they'd catch their breaths. Ugly little idiots.

So why am I having a baby you ask? I dunno, I just am. It's what you do ain't it. I've got to give my two little nieces (whom I actually adore) a playmate for when I see them and a grandchild for my parents. And anyway, could I really rob the world of my beauty? If she looks anything like me she'll be gorgeous (yes I'm arrogant), as long as she doesn't have my husbands nose (I'm also mean).

It's not as if I'll have to look after her everyday. They have boarding nurseries, right?